Four or five jet-black SUVs rolled to a halt in the middle of a deserted jungle. The silence of the trees was broken only by the faint hum of the engines, and then—
Click.
The car door opened.
Out stepped a man in his late twenties. Impeccably dressed in a body-fitted black three-piece suit, his towering frame radiated silent authority. With dark sunglasses shielding his eyes and a stoic face carved out of ice, his aura was untouchable—cold, commanding, and lethal.
Without a word, he moved through the dense forest, his polished shoes crunching against fallen leaves until he reached it—an abandoned, ruined bungalow hidden deep within the trees. Its decaying walls whispered stories of secrets long buried.
He entered.
A dimly lit corridor greeted him, eerie and narrow, leading him down into the darkness—into the basement.
In the center of the room, under a faint, flickering light, sat two men—tied, trembling, and broken.
He pulled out the lone chair in front of them, sat down leisurely, crossed one leg over the other, and simply stared.
"P-please... s-sir... forgive us. It will never happen again... I-I’m sorry... aahh..." one man whimpered.
"Y-yes, sir... we... we were paid... to do all this. We didn’t mean... to cross... you. I beg you, please let us go..." the other managed between gasps.
The man leaned forward slightly.
“I’ll let you go,” he said, voice deep and calm. “But first, I want a name.”
Silence. Terrified, hesitant silence.
They knew. They both knew. This man didn’t make threats. He executed them.
“I’ll spare the one who speaks first,” he said coldly, “So stop wasting my time.”
One man broke down.
“W-we don’t know his name. He... he was wearing a mask... But—but I saved his number... it’s in my phone. The rest... his details, it’s all there.”
A pause.
Then a smirk.
“That’s enough,” the man said, rising to his feet. He rubbed his temple with the barrel of his gun—and without a moment's hesitation, fired.
Bang. Bang.
One bullet for each. Right between the eyes.
“No one dares mess with Ekaksh Singh Rathore. I am the devil in this game. And for anyone who even dreams of betraying me—death becomes their destiny.”
He turned to the man standing in the shadows. “Clean this up. Put them where they belong, Darvin.”
Darvin, his silent right hand, nodded. But Ekaksh didn’t wait for a response. He had other places to be.
He walked into a side room, changed into a fresh set of clothes, and within minutes, he was gone—back into the world where he wore another crown.
⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩
The giant black gates of Infinity Enterprises parted smoothly. Another black car rolled in.
Ekaksh stepped out.
Sharp. Elegant. Unshakably confident.
He walked into the private elevator, pressed the top floor, and adjusted his cufflinks. When the doors slid open, every head turned.
Employees paused mid-conversation, whispering to one another, admiring the enigma that was their CEO.
With just a subtle nod, he acknowledged their greetings and walked straight into his cabin.
As he entered, he undid his coat buttons, revealing a crisp black shirt beneath. He sat down on the executive chair behind a sleek black desk that gleamed under the light.
A nameplate rested on one corner—
Ekaksh Singh Rathore
CEO – Infinity
The cabin was a symphony of black and grey minimalist yet intimidatingly powerful.
His assistant Arjun soon entered with a stack of files and his packed schedule for the day.
Meeting after meeting, deal after deal—he tackled each one with the same calculated precision. Tireless. Focused. Ruthless. The world called him a workaholic. But for Ekaksh, this chaos was peace.
Late that night, he walked into the Rathore Mansion.
The lights were low, but one presence awaited—his mother, Sumitra Singh Rathore.
He sighed. “Ma, I told you not to wait for me. It’s late. You need your rest.”
Sumitra looked up from the sofa and narrowed her eyes. “Beta ji, jab mujhe pata hai ki mera ladka aayega toh main kaise so jaaun? Aur teri wajah se meri romantic night barbad ho gayi.”
Ekaksh choked. “Maa! Can you not say things like that to your son?! What’s your filter made of?”
Sumitra laughed unabashedly. “Main toh open-minded maa hoon! But maybe, just maybe—you should solve my problem by finding me a bahu.”
“Maa, not this again,” he groaned, dropping his head in her lap.
She smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “Okay, okay... chalo, dinner time.”
She guided him to the dining table, personally reheated the food, and served it like always—like only a mother could.
Sitting beside him, she didn’t say a word at first. Just... watched him. Quietly.
Ekaksh noticed. “Kya hua, Ma? Kuch kehna hai?”
She exhaled deeply. Then spoke, her voice softer.
“Ekaksh, I know you’re not ready. You carry too many weights on your shoulders. But beta... responsibility isn’t something you learn—it’s something you embrace when the time arrives.
When I married your father, he wasn’t ready either. But he gave me a lifetime of love and strength. That’s the kind of man you are too.
That’s why... I found a girl for you.”
Ekaksh looked up, stunned.
“She’s beautiful. I’ve left the photo and her details in your room. There's no pressure. The decision is yours. Always. But promise me you’ll at least think about it. Good night, beta.”
And with that, she walked away.
⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩
Later that night, after finishing dinner, Ekaksh entered his room.
He tossed his coat aside, grabbed his sweatpants, and disappeared into the bathroom.
When he returned—shirtless, with only a towel slung around his neck—his sculpted physique glistened under the soft lights.
(Author: Haaye... my dangerously hot and sexy munda ☺️)
He threw the towel on the couch, picked up his cigarette, and walked towards the balcony—but something stopped him.
An envelope.
Lying quietly on the table.
He hesitated.
Then, curiosity won.
He opened it—and slid out a photograph.
A girl in a yellow Anarkali suit. Her waist-length hair cascaded down her back, her chubby cheeks glowed with innocence, her button nose twitched slightly in the picture, and her full lips curled into a shy smile.
For a moment... he just looked.
Then, a rare smile touched his lips—small, almost imperceptible.
And a name slipped from his mouth in a whisper.
“Mishti...”
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